


Never Really Alone

by fallencastiel (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1237171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fallencastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally posted on my and my friend's tumblr blog spnlockedthings. The blog has been deleted and so I've posted it on here.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Never Really Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my and my friend's tumblr blog spnlockedthings. The blog has been deleted and so I've posted it on here.

After John and Mary got married they became increasingly distant from Sherlock. Sherlock had always known that this was what was going to happen, but he never knew how much it was going to hurt.  
Sat in the living room of 221b Baker Street, Sherlock remembered feeling these exact emotions sometime before.

Mycroft had been Sherlock’s mentor for as long as he could remember and so when he left for university Sherlock was left alone. He occupied himself with bizarre experiments at first; boiling the eyeballs of animals to see the rate at which they expanded, and monitored the growth of plants. But soon the boredom and sadness became too much, and at 16 years old Sherlock did something that he had vowed both to himself and to his brother never to do. He turned to drugs.

It started off as a casual past time activity; something to make the hollow feeling that flooded his body more bearable. But after a few weeks Sherlock returned to school and the bullying resumed.

On the nights he wasn’t out walking the empty streets in a blind daze, he would be alone in his bedroom, high on drugs and sadness – a mixture which, if taken in a high enough dose, would be enough to kill someone. Especially when that someone was already half dead from the sheer nothingness inside them.

The nebula that flashed under his eyelids sent him into an abyss filled with a suffocating vacuum of emotional turmoil and volcanic anger that made Sherlock feel like he was a bomb waiting to detonate.

His brain pulsed and Sherlock became increasingly aware of the consciousness slipping tantalisingly in and out of his grasp, rendering him helpless and trapped inside one claustrophobic area of his mind. It was almost silent. The type of silence that is deafening. His heart was getting less erratic; slowing so that it was barely more than a whisper. Sherlock was unable to comprehend the feeling of fear that was slowly engulfing him.

Sherlock Holmes did not feel fear.

He lay there, convulsing and shuddering as his body desperately tried to attack the foreign molecules that crept through his body. The predators that were ascending inside his head make him finally lose the ability to fight and soon he lay unmoving.

The moments after felt like a lifetime, and a huge and overwhelming wave of pain washed over him. Sherlock succumbed, letting the unconsciousness drag him down into the darkness.

…

Machines beeped and breath entered his lungs. It felt like the first drop of water after a drought. His eyes blinked open and revealed his normally blue eyes shining green in a blinding white light that burnt through his synapses.  
One blurred figure emerged from the light. Mycroft.

…

Sherlock resurfaced from his memories and took a huge gulp of air. He realised that feeling alone and being alone are two very different things.

Although Sherlock felt alone, he never truly was.

Before, he had Mycroft. And now, even though he didn’t fully realise it, he had John. He had Mary. Mrs Hudson. Molly. Even Lestrade. All he had to do was pick up the phone and someone would be there.

…

Although you may feel alone, this is hardly ever the case.


End file.
